


Eyes Without a Face

by Misterkingdom



Series: How Mercy Looks From Here [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Child Abuse, Earth-3, F/M, Heavy Angst, Imagine if a piano fell on your head but the piano was made out of angst, M/M, THIS IS DEPRESSING, child sex abuse mention but it is not DETAILED, this is what reading this fanfic is like.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misterkingdom/pseuds/Misterkingdom
Summary: I love you even though you ruined my life.I love you even though I’m only staying alive to satisfy you.I love you even though loving you is suicide.I love you despite all the warning signs.*A history of Dick Grayson's relationships.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson
Series: How Mercy Looks From Here [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/109316
Comments: 25
Kudos: 139





	1. Mad World

**Author's Note:**

> So, all you need to know is the Bat Family are all criminals in this universe. For more clarification, read the first two chapters of [THIS.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740950/chapters/3716798)

1984

No Tomorrow 

Wayne Manor looked like a grim snow globe of Dracula’s castle—with all the white floating down from the glaucoma grey skies. The building was as black as a coffin and stretched the length of the horizon, its tower scrapped the steel clouds. It was easy to imagine heads on the pointed spikes of the tall gates. The sobbing angel in the middle of the walkway wore a blanket of white, her tears frozen with the fountain water.

Ten-year-old Dick Grayson held his backpack and teddy bear in front of him as he left the limo. The teardrops of snow stopped as the skies blackened—the butler, Alfred Pennyworth, had placed an umbrella over his head. The man’s hand was a gentle, warm, weight as pushed lightly, encouraging Dick to walk down the long, slick pathway to the large, black door with gold trim.

The door creaked like he was opening an old mausoleum as they entered the house. He couldn’t call what he saw a living room—it was more like a lobby at the Ritz. Black leather seats, a twisting, polished, wooden staircase endowed with a heart red, strip of a carpet. The shiny, white marble floor mimicked the roaring fire place on the far side of the wall. It did nothing to offset the mortuary chill of the room.

Alfred encouraged Dick to walk again, so he does, the butler guiding him up the staircase into a blank canvas of a room—a queen sized bed, layered with three beige blankets and puffy, white pillows. Cream, fluttering curtains dancing because of the heater under them. A chocolate colored dresser was in the corner and the mirrored closet stared at him. He looked thin and tiny, as spilled ink blue collected under his eyes. He looked _scared_. Why was he scared? He should be happy not being in the boys' home and away from father Rob...just away from the boys' home.

Alfred helped him take the jacket off and the backpack, but when he went for the teddy, Dick held him tighter. The man seemed to understand before setting his things in the closet.

“Richard?” Alfred’s face was as white and wrinkled as a sheet that was left in the dryer too long. His grey hair was receding like the tide. He wore all black like a funeral director and stood straight.

“Yeah?”

“You have free rein of the manor, though you mustn't go into Master Bruce Wayne’s office. It’s the large door to the left of the fire place, on the main floor.”

“Okay.”

“Splendid. Now, would you like something—”

“What does he want from me?” Dick asked. “Why did he adopt me?”

Alfred frowned. “When he gets here, you can ask him. Until then, dinner is at eight o’ clock. Do you understand?”

The man’s voice had a cold, but polite edge. Dick swallowed the rest of his question.

“I understand.”

The next few days were spent getting lost in the maze of hallways and opening as many doors he could until he became exhausted. Alfred only spoke to him at meals, the rest of the time he was invisible, like a ghost haunting the huge manor that stepped straight out of _The Shining_. 

He took his teddy everywhere with him, his only companion as he explored what felt like a mile-long house, with oddly only a few doors that led to the outside. Every time he was certain he explored everything, there was another door. Searching kept him busy and kept his anxiety down as he waited to meet the elusive Bruce Wayne. He’d been there three days and he’d only heard the door to the office he wasn’t supposed to go in close once.

A week later, Alfred told him Bruce Wayne was returning from Tokyo in two days’ time. Dick—who’d finally went through all the doors—was running out of time to explore the only room he hadn’t—the office.

Alfred always went to sleep around 9pm, so eleven was as good a time as any. He rationalized breaking the only rule like this: he wanted to know what Bruce Wayne liked so he’d like Dick when they met. Even he knew he was lying. It was a toxic brew of boredom and curiosity driving him.

The door to Bruce Wayne’s office was almost black with how dark brown it was. He put his ear to the door. It was graveyard silent as he swallowed his nervousness and pressed his teddy to his chest.

The room was mostly shelves packed with books, all of them hardcover in browns and dull reds. There was an arm chair the color of old blood, sitting at the end of a fancy carpet, segregated from its black leather twin by a crystal coffee table. There was a dead fire place to the side of it as he navigated the room by the low white light leaking through the translucent window curtains. There’s another sofa under the only window in the room, next to an open closet with multiple crisp suits.

It was sterile, like a psychologist’s office. Dick was disappointed. What could he be hiding—and that’s when he saw it. A tunnel in between the suits, leaking cold as some sort of birds screamed. He should leave and was prepared to do so until he saw...it couldn’t be.

There were whispered stories about the true ruler of Gotham City, and it wasn’t the mayor. His dad’s mob buddies told rumors about a nightmare in a silver uniform, the one taking most of the cut of every criminal activity. A torturer who could make even the Manson girls flinch. When Dick asked his dad about it, he made Dick promise to stay as far away from Gotham as he could.

Beware the white death, Owlman...whose bulky suit was hanging right in Bruce Wayne’s closet.

The door creaked, Dick almost missed it over the pounding of his own heart. He quickly hid between the sofa and the wall beneath the window.

Yellow light caused the room to become shadow muddied as an audible switch was flipped. The thump of a suitcase Dick saw from under the couch dropped on the floor. He flinched. Shiny, black shoes walked across the room, as quiet as a cat’s paw, heading to the closet he was facing. Dick breathed a little easier. Alfred—or Bruce Wayne—was going to go into the strange tunnel and then Dick can make his escape and definitely runaway—he was not going to be living in the same house as freaking _Owlman_.

The shoes stopped, as a pale hand reached half a foot away from Dick. He stifled his gasp with a hand clasped around his mouth. His teddy! Left right at the open closet.

After a loaded minute, a voice as deep as an abyss spoke.

“Come. Out. Now.”

Dick considered staying in but thought it would be worse if the man had to get him, so he swallowed something thick in his throat and crawled from behind the sofa. 

Bruce Wayne had to be about 6’2. He was clad in a crisp, black suit, as if he came from a funeral. His hair was perfectly sculpted bat-back and he was as pale as a handsome corpse. His eyes were sapphire blue and dead, his face expressionless, impersonal and accessing Dick as if he were studying an amoeba under a telescope. Dick’s teddy bear was clenched in Bruce Wayne’s fist, the only indicator that he might be angry.

The silence crept on as Dick’s breath shuddered in the too quiet room. Dick felt like a tiny moon in the face of a supernova.

“H-how was Japan?” Dick’s voice broke.

“How much did you see?”

“Nothing! I didn’t see anything I just—"

“Lie to me again, and I'll break your fingers.”

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sor...Are you going to kill me?”

“Should I?”

“What?”

“Are you going to try to leave?” Though Bruce Wayne’s voice didn’t change, there was something a little heavy about the word ‘try.’

“Nuh-uh.”

“Are you going to try to tell anyone?”

Dick shook his head.

Mr. Wayne let the silence drag on before ending it just before Dick started crying.

“Sit.”

Dick sat in the black chair directly across from the red one, his feet hanging just above carpet. Bruce sat the one across from it. They were only separated by a delicate, glass coffee table and a puddle of a rug. Dick watched Bruce’s perfectly manicured nails, trying to imagine them as the talons his dad said Owlman used to disembowel his enemies, which Dick was starting to feel like right now. It wasn’t hard to imagine Mr. Wayne’s strong hands around his thin neck.

“What did you want to know?”

“What?”

“You came in here when you were strictly forbidden to do so.” Mr. Wayne said. “What did you want to know?”

“I wanted...to know why you picked me.”

“Because I wanted to.”

“That’s not an answer.” Dick frowned.

“Because you belong to me.”

“What?”

“You’re a talented gymnast, especially for your age. You were brought up that way for a reason. You were promised to me, until your father backed out of a deal.”

Dick breathed like the air had turned to glass. “D-did you kill him?”

Mr. Wayne let the silence drag on, studying Dick as Dick wiped at his own eyes with his coarse sleeves, soaking it instantly—he's lying, right?

“No.” Mr. Wayne said. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“I—I’m leaving. You can’t keep me here.”

“And go where? Did you stop to think why your mother never came to get you?”

“I—”

“Because you’re mine. You’re an investment and I don’t make bad investments.”

“Then why...did you leave me at St. Jude’s home for a year?” It was the only coherent sentence Dick could utter.

“It builds character. Now go to your room. Your training starts tomorrow.

*

The training was the hardest thing he’s ever done in his young life. Bruce Wayne—_Owlman_—demanded complete perfection, in and out of the training room. At society parties, Owlman showed him off like a prized horse and Dick had to act like he won a golden ticket. If he was too quiet, he’d get beaten. If he was too loud, he’d be beaten. If he cried, he’d get beaten. If he laughed, beaten.

At night, he trained to become the perfect weapon. Owlman needed a lieutenant, the man was getting too old to manage all his underworld dealings and Wayne Enterprises by himself. He needed someone he could mold into a monster, with complete loyalty to him and without a conscious. A child was born with a clean slate, and a mind like clay to shape them to whatever he wanted them to be and Dick was indeed becoming a monster.

He was eleven the first time he killed, he’d stabbed some cop in the neck, one that wouldn’t bend to Owlman like Gordon did. He’d slipped into the small apartment (being an honest cop doesn’t pay, Dick guessed) and turned on the light to at least give the man a fair chance. He quickly straddled the man and stabbed right into his jugular, causing a crimson geyser to erupt from his neck. He was dead in seconds, and Dick, baptized in his hot blood, was reborn as Talon. The witnesses would dub him a dark cherub.

He expected to feel guilty, but he didn’t—only pride when Owlman placed his firm hand on Dick’s bird boned shoulders and squeezed.

It went on like that—he'd kill and Owlman touched him. He’d maim and Owlman touched him. He’d threaten, and Owlman touched him. He’d torture, and Owlman touched him. Soon he’d become like Pavlov’s dog, eagerly awaiting the touch and approval of his master, with all the happiness of a cat bringing a present of a dead mouse to its owner. The man was the only person allowed to touch Dick. His touch was like a drug, he couldn’t get enough.

His addiction went terminal one night, when he’d just turned twelve—Owlman had stepped in the shower with him. He felt tiny and breakable in the wake of tall, muscular, man whose skin was beautifully disfigured with patches of raised, silver scars and pink acid burns.

Dick doesn’t flinch when Owlman runs his fingers through Dick’s wet hair, the soap replacing the blood and sweat before leaning down and kissing him on the corner of his mouth. Dick pressed back, catching his lips and grabbing the towel to cover his...problem. Owlman actually_ smiled_ at him before leaving. As soon as the man left, Dick got to work soothing his ache.

*

1987

Dick was three days past his thirteenth birthday when he walked into Owlman’s office and told him he loved him. His heartbeat sped up to a speed of a hummingbird’s wings. His hands were so slippery with sweat it felt like he’d recently ran his hands under water. His t-shirt clung to him like a second skin as he let his backpack and coat drop to the floor.

He’d been thinking about this moment for months and decided the third anniversary of his adoption must have some significance. It was torture, as he dragged the weight of his love like a dead body behind him. School would’ve been painful—though he wouldn’t know since he skipped and bided his time planning this whole speech in the grimy bathroom of the Centennial mall and then promptly forgot it.

_I love you even though you ruined my life._

_I love you even though I’m only staying alive to satisfy you._

_I love you even though loving you is suicide._

_I love you despite all the warning signs._

Owlman's eyebrows climbed and his lips parted a little. Dick almost felt pride at making the man's perfect face betray something other than a cold, calculating, ice-blue stare.

Owlman put on his mask of casual indifference again, watching him as like he was an ant under a magnifying glass. Dick felt like what was acid coming up in his throat. This was a bad idea. He should've just blown his brains out in the mall's restroom like he planned. Too bad he left the gun on the broken sink.

Owlman closed the small distance between them. Dick had gotten taller in the three years he’d been under the man's tutelage, but he’s still glass in the face of a man who was diamond.

Without warning, Owlman tangled his hand in Dick's hair, fingers catching in the knots. Dick shivered and let his eyes flutter closed, as warm gold collected in his belly. Owlman's hand was a hot, dry weight against Dick’s jugular as he guided his face away from the shiny, wooden floorboards until Dick was staring into those overcast, midnight ocean blues. Dick’s breath caught as Owlman rubbed his smooth thumb against Dick’s chapped bottom lip.

“Sir—" The man’s fingers tightened until Dick struggled to breathe. He grabbed the man’s wrist with both of his hands—He could escape the vice of Owlman’s grasp if he really wanted to, but he doesn’t know if it’s worth it…and he wanted to show the man that he was truly _his _to do with as he pleases. Even die at his master's hands_. _Instead, as the black closes in on him, he drops one arm from the man’s wrist to run up the hard muscle under the wake black suit of Owlman’s abdomen. He slid it down, until he tugged at the hem. He let his lips fall open, and as death slid close to him, he looked up into the man’s eyes and smiled.

Dick was placed on the desk before he knew it, with Owlman’s thighs between his legs, as they kissed hard, the man stealing away what little breath Dick manage to get back. He hitched his thighs around Owlman’s hips like he saw the peroxide junkie porn stars do in the playboy magazines he found hidden under his math teacher’s desk when he was trying to steal the answers to the test.

Fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head as it was yanked back. Owlman’s blunt teeth dug against his skin, almost hard enough to tear. He didn’t know how to feel about this, it was farther then what the priest had done to him.

He wrapped his arm around the man’s neck. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Bruce.”

Owlman went as still as a headstone before moving back to watch Dick with indifference. Dick blinked awake like a spell had been broken. There was click in his jaw as he was slapped, falling on the floor, the pain overshadowed by the fear—not of death, but the rejection. What did he say?

“Get out.” Owlman said.

There was no room for weakness, Dick remembered belatedly as he crawled under the covers in his own room. He must’ve been insane to try. It didn’t help matters that he had the best jerk off session of his life, thinking about the hard hands around his neck.

*

The next day he was sent to Titan’s Tower, not sure when he’d be coming back to Wayne Manor or if he was being abandoned. Mostly, it was like school, except everyone there was a freak of nature—especially some golden girl who’d taken a ‘shine’ to him named Kori.

The first thing he did there was get drunk for the first time, the numbing effect of the alcohol was a different kind of numb he’s used to feeling, made him less lonely. He was fucked up for most the time he was in the Titans.

The second thing he did is fuck for the first time, Kori riding him in the handicapped stall of the girl’s bathroom was biblical, as close to heaven as he’ll ever get and soon, that’s all he ever did—fuck and get wasted, though he still did well with his training, leaving a garden of concussions, broken bones, and at least one death in his wake.

He lasted long enough until they were somewhere in South America, infiltrating a school bus full of children going to meet some big government official. They were supposed to take him out, but it turned into a cluster-fuck. None dead. Dick left when they hit the terminal in California, hitchhiking his way back to Gotham.

*

The manor still looked like a sprawling asylum, but it was home. He steeled himself as he broke the glass to the kitchen window and climbed in—a weak spot that he never told Owlman or Alfred about. He stripped off his jacket and marched straight into Owlman’s office and through the closet door leading to the Owl-cave.

The man was in full, silver uniform, his talons moving quickly on the keyboard, a small shadow in the wake of the giant screens.

Dick yanked the swivel chair around until Owlman was facing him.

“I’m not leaving.” Dick said as sternly as he could. He was surprised that his voice didn’t shiver.

“Is that so?” A small smirk played on the man’s face.

“Yeah.”

“Nothing has changed. You will obey me, and I will hurt you.”

Dick thought about all the broken bones, the bruises, the gunshot wounds, the sleepless nights and endless days, the lies that dripped from his mouth when teachers asked about his appearance and the black eyes, the wish to die and the disappointment when he didn’t—it all hurt less than being without Owlman.

“Yeah? There’s nothing you can do to me now that I wouldn’t do to myself.”

“Fine.” Owlman said as he turned back to the screens. It was a bit anticlimactic. Though the new Talon uniform waiting for him wasn’t.

*

1988

Like a Virgin

He met Barbara Gordon at one of the mixers Owlman had every couple of months to prove he was human, though, if the gossip Dick heard while he was sneaking champagne to his room is to be believed, the jury’s still out, despite what the man does.

He was soon banished to the rec room with a handful of trust fund teens whose names and faces he forgot as soon as they were out of his eyesight. He played poker with some kids, beating each one until the game became boring. He was going to turn in early until a redhead slid in the chair in front of him. Her curly hair cascaded down her round, milk white face like a scarlet ribbon. The only thing redder than her hair was her poorly applied lipstick. Her heavy, raccoon mask-black eye shadow made her blueberry eyes stark. Her smile was broken by braces. She looked about the same age as Dick, but she was almost as tall as he was, and wearing what looked like a Barbie-pink, glittering, wedding dress.

She was the commissioner's daughter, the one on Owlman’s pay roll.

Their match lasted longer than usual, until Barbara presented him with a royal flush. He couldn’t stop the chuckle.

“Nice.” Dick said.

“Thank you.”

“How’d you win?”

The girl smirked, looking too devious for her age as she cupped her mouth and leaned over the table. Her warm, wet breath tingled his lips as she whispered: “Cheated.”

Dick returned her smirk with one of his own. “Me too.”

*

Dick loved her when he knew he shouldn’t—she wasn’t a part of his world, but he couldn’t help it. After a few hangouts, they ended up dating. She had a mind as bright as an uncut diamond, with a tongue to match. She never took any of his bullshit and made him remain as far away from her as a pastor would make kids stand at a Christian middle school dance. No matter how many times he tried to get into her purple spandex or yellow half shirts.

He kept the relationship a secret from Owlman, but he suspected the man knew, since Alfred bought him condoms and gave him a frank conversation about the Owls and the Bats.

But the bookstore visits, movies, the exchange of romantic themed mix tapes, long telephone conversations, and school dances was everything he needed. A little bit of normal, it was the closest thing he’d ever felt to being his own person and not a weapon or an extension of Owlman, and soon even fucking her took a backseat to holding her.

The big night came three months later, when her dad and mom were out of town for something, Dick didn’t care to remember what. The night started with them playing poker (no cheating this time), eating popcorn, rotting their teeth with strawberry soda, and watching television, before she left to her parent’s room. Dick was staring at a rerun of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_, when she tapped on his shoulder and led him to her parent’s bedroom.

There were so many candles lit that it smelled of smoke. There was pine scented Lysol trying and failing to cover that. The bed was king sized and rouge, like a human sized piece of red velvet cake.

Barbara shyly stripped off her clothes, pale skin and curves deliciously sketched in shadow, and laid beneath the blanket, pulling it up to her chin. Dick wasted no time getting his clothes off and getting under with her until she cradled him between her silky thighs. He was gentle, despite all instincts telling him to claim her, because it was her first time.

One condom tear and she’d be his forever.

She closed her eyes as he fucked her, and he wondered if she was fantasizing that he was her dad (whatever gaudy aftershave the commissioner used was thick on the pillow.) Freud would have a field day with them.

He was so certain he was going to marry her, but growing up took too long and maybe, just maybe, if he had something else to live for instead of Owlman, he’d be free. He would’ve brought up the idea of getting betrothed (though he’d given her a sapphire, $1,259 promise ring), but they were too young, so he brought up the idea of having a baby, even though they were both fourteen. She wasn’t on board.

Dick was great at ruining good things, so he started compromising the condoms to knock her up, and she caught him. She broke up with him that very minute, called him a rapist, and cut off all contact with him, cold turkey. Loving her was like a drug, and stalking her didn’t help matters, so he retreated further into Owlman’s grasp—the one person who wouldn’t leave. His addiction.

*

1989

Where the shadows run from themselves

Roy Harper was taller than him, but skinner. He was sixteen, one year older than Dick. He had a flame of red hair, combed back like his master, and when he usually saw him, Roy was in a ridiculous ketchup red tunic and tights, with mustard orange boots and gloves—and a hat like a stereotype of Robin Hood. Suddenly, Dick was very grateful for the color scheme of silver and black Owlman made him wear. 

The new assassin accepted into the Crime Syndicate of America, Green Arrow, was Roy’s master. Roy was Speedy, and never talked about how he became under Green Arrow’s tutelage.

Owlman took a liking to Oliver Queen (as much as Owlman could like anyone, which was not much) so they often worked together when the latter was in town. They weren’t fucking—to Dick’s relief, but Dick ended up in Roy’s company often, which was equally parts entertaining and horrifying.

Speedy had the car that night as it roars around the corner, taking out a lamppost as five screaming cop cars chase them. The radio was cranked up—_Welcome to The Jungle_ blasted so loud that it almost drowned out the sound of Roy laughing like a maniac as they raced through the crowded streets of Gotham on Halloween.

Dick was hanging on to the handle for dear life as Roy sat back in his seat just as a bullet shattered the wing mirror, causing a grin to grow on the teen's face. Dick was about take the wheel, until a spotlight from a helicopter almost blinded him.

“Hey! You think we’ll make the news?!” Roy yelled at him between laughs.

“Fuck, if we do, I’m going to murder you!” Dick yelled back. He should’ve been angrier about this because Owlman was going to kill him, but Speedy’s crazy was contagious.

They got lucky and ended up under a dark bridge, the cops speeding by unaware. Dick leaned over and turned the music down, though he still couldn’t hear over the pounding of his own heart. Roy took off that ridiculous hat and his mask, combing his fingers through his hair.

Laughter bubbled up from Dick, it must’ve been the adrenaline. Speedy joined in on the laughter, while digging under the seat and pulling out a cigarette. He lit it with a lighter decorated like the American flag, momentarily adding a flash color the dark car. The flickering of the far-off lights of the city was the only thing to see by.

Despite most of the smoke fleeing out the window, some of the second hand got caught in Dick's throat. He coughed. 

“What kind of cigarette is that?” Dick asked.

“What kind of question is that?”

“Is that weed?”

“Yup. Want a hit?”

“No.”

“Dude don’t turn this into a after school special. Just take it. It’s 100% better than getting wasted. That’s the Harper promise.”

Dick steeled his nerves and lent over to take the out stretched joint from Speedy’s grip. Their fingers brushed, and some part of Dick wished they weren't wearing gloves.

He put it in his mouth and inhaled. He immediately regretted it. He nearly hacked up a lung as tears collected in the corner of his eyes. Before he could drop the blunt, Roy took it back, his light, carefree laughter filled up the car like smoke.

“You’re such a loser, Dick.” Roy said. It sounded more affectionate than a taunt. "Let’s try this.”

Roy never broke eye contact as he took a long drag of the joint. He leaned close enough that their lips were inches apart, as he breathed a gas leak of smoke, Dick inhaled again, but it was silkier, going down easier. His brain became stuffed with cotton and glitter, his heartbeat slowed as his eyes fluttered closed. He reached out and gripped the nape of Speedy’s neck and put their foreheads together. It really was better than being drunk and he wants—No. _Needs_—to feel this way all the time.

They kept smoking until their throats burned. Dick slumped back in his seat, staring at the ceiling of the car, as Speedy put on some Jimmy Hendrix. The cops had to be gone by now, but neither of them wanted to break the reverie they were in.

Roy’s stare weighed on Dick.

“Dick. Hey, Dick?” Speedy said, trying to get his attention. The intrusion felt like Dick was being pulled out of bed while he was comfortable. “You still with me, buddy?”

“I guess so."

Roy laughed. “Good, because I have a question.” 

“Hm?” Dick hummed as he took another hit.

“You ever been fucked in a car before?”

Dick was so caught off guard that he nearly swallowed what little bit of the joint they had left. By the time he’s able to talk again, Speedy had his hand on Dick’s knee. Dick's stomach sank in a way that wasn’t entirely bad.

“Look, I don't know what kind of vibe you got—”

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Roy said as he slid his hand between Dick’s thighs. Butterflies collected in Dick’s stomach. “You’re the friggin’ eighth wonder of the world.”

“I’m not...” Well, he can’t say he wasn’t gay. His feelings for his master proved otherwise, though he thought of the man as an exception, since he mostly liked girls. He thought. “Speedy...”

“Shush. Just call me Roy.” The other teen pressed his chapped lips against Dick’s. Dick wondered if he was being taken advantage of because he was so high, but, despite it all, he didn’t want to come down. Hell, he should be happy someone wanted him. He suddenly wanted to be praised, desired, and **loved,** but two out of three isn’t bad.

He kissed back hard as he could before they ended up in the back seat. Roy had turned up the radio, the car shaking to _White Room._ Roy fucked him, and it hurt like hell, but it didn’t hold a candle to the pain he felt when he was alone every waking moment. Later, he would wonder if he’d been raped, because he barely remembered that night in the cherry red 1972 Cadillac DeVille, but it didn’t stop them from fucking almost every time they were alone, and if they weren’t fucking, they were doing a shit-ton of drugs.

Weed, speed, ecstasy, cocaine, shrooms, and heroin. That last one was his favorite. Roy was always holding. Soon, all Dick could think about was heroin. He started slipping on rooftops. Falling asleep behind the wheel in the Owl-mobile. Forgetting what he was saying mid threat and itching so much that he tried to tear off his skin.

It took Owlman a while to notice, which kind of hurt, but when he did, he broke Dick’s arm and locked him in the Owl-cave to shake the withdrawals out of him. After, his arm was bandaged by Alfred and he was forced to take a shower and put on pajamas.

He was considering escaping until he was guided to Owlman’s bed by the man himself and anchored down by his lips. It was everything he wanted, and though they spent hours kissing, they never went any farther, but it reminded Dick who he really wanted, his heroin—Bruce Wayne.

He never saw Roy again after that.

*

1990

Cherry Bomb

Jason Peter Todd was trouble ever since Dick <strike>kidnapped</strike> brought him back to Wayne Manor. The kid was nine and had as much energy as a rabbit on speed. He ran through the hallways yelling, sledded down the staircases, left superhero action figures in so many places that Dick couldn’t help but to step on them, played pranks on Alfred by moving various things around the house and locking him in closets. Played pranks on Dick at every opportunity, mostly by trying to capture him via a net gun he stole from the Owl cave or taking the phone off the hook so Dick couldn’t use it unless he walked all the way to the other side of the mansion to hang it back up, just to find out yet _another_ phone was off the hook.

Despite it all, Dick couldn’t help the smile or the warm feeling spreading through his chest like tea when he and kid played video games, horsed around, or fell asleep in a pile after watching TV and eating dry cereal for hours. It was finally like he had someone, forever. Now he was happy he’d told the kid that he couldn’t bring him home, and that no one cared about him anyway, so he might as well come to Wayne Manor with Dick—that he _belonged_ <strike>to</strike> with him.

It fell apart when (now) ten-year-old Jason stepped between Owlman and Dick, and effectively told the man to leave Dick alone and go fuck himself. Dick promptly apologized for Jason’s behavior, anything to stop Owlman from hurting the kid—ready to take the blow himself, but Owlman just stared through them before leaving.

The next day he put a pistol in Jason’s hand and in a week, the kid hit all the targets—six out of six, and despite all of Dick’s training, he could manage four out of six. The kid smiled when Owlman put his hand on his shoulder—the closest thing Owlman ever came to praise, and Dick’s stomach sinks and he briefly finds himself wishing he’d let the kid go to the home and he _knows_ it’s fucked up. He then realizes that Jason living with him was the happiest he’d ever been since his dad died.

The kid turned to him and pointed the unloaded gun straight at him. Dick didn’t have the energy to even flinch when Jason pulled the trigger.

“Bang. You’re dead.” Jason said before putting the gun to his own head and pulling the trigger. “Now I’m dead.”

*

The kid excelled in arms, boxing, switchblades, swords, and improvising. He could do everything, except gymnastics. Apparently, that was Dick’s area, but sometimes he thinks Jason fails on purpose, just so he could hang out ‘training’ with Dick, which is mostly them laughing, wrestling, and talking endlessly. He always let the kid win, because Jason was being trained by Owlman...and has the bruises to show for it, but it can’t dim the carefree smile Jason wore like a badge of honor win he ‘won.’

He got Dick’s old uniform with some upgrades and was unleashed on Gotham. That’s when they discover his weakness: he cares.

He lets their enemies live—mostly gives warnings. He saves helpless women in dark alleyways that try to eat them. He spares cops. He openly opposes Owlman’s objectives if they’ll hurt innocent people. He has a heart. That’s the best and worst thing about him. It doesn’t mean a thing that Dick loves him for it.

*

1994

Dick’s room had been commandeered by Jason before Dick had a chance to move out, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that, even though he'd just found a nice place (where he can bring girls and drink) on the other side of the city.

The room was complete chaos—there are so many movie, music posters, newspaper clippings, photographs, and sticky notes covering the walls that he could barely see the white valleys between them. There are clothes dripping from drawers and action figures in dirty poses lining his smudged, cracked vanity and on top the headboard of his bed.

Guns and switchblades were haphazardly adored around the room. Jason’s Talon armor was disconnected and strewn like doll parts on the gold and red circular rug in the middle of the room. He was adding his own flair with anarchy pins and patches.

Jason had a new bed, since the thirteen-year-old was getting tall—way taller than Dick when he was that age. It was littered with comic books and defaced Barbie dolls. Dick finding Jason in the middle of the mattress was like playing _Where’s Waldo_, with the kid’s stark red hair being the only thing peeking out from the mauve blankets.

He laid with his back to Dick, as if he hadn’t heard him close the door. It’s strange because when Dick visits/is called in by Owlman, the kid usually gave him a hug as a front for some horrible prank he’s playing at the time.

Dick had been there for hours and hadn’t been tackled or heard the rev of the net gun.

“Jay?” Dick said lowly as he laid behind him in the bed, knocking a pile of comic books down to the floor. He slumped his arm over the boy’s shoulder to pull him closer, and Jason flinched like he’d been burned. “Shit, Jay what’s going on?”

Jason turned slowly on his back to stare at the ceiling. Dick took stock of his pearl white skin, emerald eyes, and messy, ruby hair. He let out a huff before turning to look fully at Dick. Jason was shirtless, and he pushed the covers down to his boxers, the kid's cheeks were colored red—why was he blushing?

There were rose colored clouds painting his jugular and the middle of his chest. There were purple stripes on his hips, where someone’s fingers had dug into his skin. Dick automatically knew what was going on but couldn’t make himself say it.

“I... are you okay?” Dick asked, burying the knowledge under the carpet of his mind. He raised his thumb to rub it across the silk skin of the kid’s cheek. Jason slapped his hand away before sitting up against the giant, cherrywood, headboard.

“I’m sorry.” Dick wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for—for kidnapping him, for the abuse, for giving him to Owlman, for preemptively not doing anything to help him?

He sat up next to Jason, so close that their shoulders touched. Jason glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, gauging him before staring straight ahead.

“You can tell me.” Dick said.

“God, you’re stupid.” Jason said before getting out of bed and going to his room’s bathroom and slamming the door.

Jason comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later with his trademark, switchblade smile, and jokes with him, but there was something lost behind the green eyes.

*

1995

The summer breeze of the country combs through their hair as Dick and Jason lay under a newly green oak tree with a giant brown trunk, the easy sun gently pressing down on them. The sky was crisp, bright, and infinite blue, unbroken by clouds.

The cabin Dick made his home away from hell lingered behind Jason as he laced their fingers to crown on the soft, warm grass. There was the hum of bees collecting honey from the colorful wild flowers around them, the falling notes of birds, and the whisper of wind singing through the dancing leaves, bending the grass like waves.

If only he lived in a snow globe, he could catch this moment forever.

Jason was fourteen now, taller than average, but still cloud pale with eyes matching the bright green grass and messy, rose red hair. His lips were a dusty pink and in a perpetual smirk. He was getting stronger every day and Dick knew he’d be a lady killer. The kid was wearing an oversized, red hoodie that belonged to Dick and smelled of girly Teen Spirit deodorant. He wore black shorts and red converse. The outfit was his staple now.

They came to Dick’s stolen cabin in the woods at least once a week, and laid under the same tree, even when fall colored the leaves flame, when snow buried them, and when they arose glittering new in spring. 

Dick reached over and cupped Jason's satin soft skin, and Jason smirked like he did something dirty. Dick smiled back when Jason’s course fingers skimmed across Dick’s cheek until he removed his sunglasses. Jason’s smile dropped. Dick doesn’t know what the kid was looking at until...oh yeah, the black eye.

Jason pulled away from Dick and put his hands behind his own head and stared into the empty skies, squinting as he watched the black birds fly against the sun.

“Why do you let him do this to you?” Jason sounded more annoyed than worried. It’s not the first time he’d asked that question. “Do you really love him that much?”

“I don’t—”

“You can lie to yourself, Dickie, but you can’t lie to me.” Jason said as he sat up and put his knees to his chest, staring at the thin line of trees across their clearing. “You’re such a victim.”

“Jay...”

“If it’s going to be more lies, you can shut up right now.”

Dick didn’t know what else to say, so he just reached up and rubbed his hand up Jason’s spine, just to touch him. Hopefully he doesn’t leave. Jason smirked as if a puzzle piece just fell into place.

“Or, maybe we could find something else to do with that mouth." 

“Uh,”

Jason moved to straddle him, lightening quick, as he catches and pins Dick’s arms against the grass. Dick’s a little proud that he’d have a hard time escaping the pin, but he’s mostly freaked out. Where was this coming from?

“What the hell?”

“Don’t be a girl about this, Dickie.”

“Says the boy who’s wearing Teen Spirit.”

Jason laughed lowly. He leaned down until his knees bracketed Dick’s. His green eyes were heavy lidded as the smirk blossomed into a genuine smile, the first one Dick’s seen in a long time. He pressed a petal soft kiss to the corner of Dick’s mouth, while releasing Dick’s wrist and lacing their fingers together in both hands. Dick hitched as Jason clumsily licked his way into his mouth, flooding his taste buds with left over, cherry bubble gum. It was a volcanic, slippery sensation that went all the way down to his core as he let out a shuddery breath.

Jason was beautiful—he should take what the kid was offering but he couldn’t work himself up. Yes, Jason was handsome and amazing, but he was also _fourteen_, while Dick was twenty-one. 

Dick frees his arm and pushes at Jason until the boy sits up in his lap, still straddling him.

“Jason, cut this the fuck out.”

Jason went in for another kiss, but Dick pushed him hard enough that he almost fell off. There’s a deep frown on the kid’s face when he regained control. Jason narrowed his eyes.

Dick wasn’t prepared for the punch that turned his face until he felt the grass on his cheek. He felt warm liquid drip down the corner of his mouth as a stinging where he bit into his lip. He looked back at Jason, who was still staring down at him with anger and desire.

“You hit me.”

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

Dick wrapped his hands around Jason's neck, maybe he could choke him out to deescalate matters without hurting the boy too much, as Jason had a temper redder than his hair. The kid punched him in his side, hard enough that Dick let go and grabbed it. He was learning too fast.

Jason put his hands around Dick's neck and squeezed hard enough to cut Dick’s breath.

“You want to play rough, Dickie bird? Then let’s fucking play rough.”

It takes effort to rearrange their position until he pinned Jason down to the ground, the boy’s thighs cradled his. The one thing Dick could use against him is weight. Jason struggled until he tired himself out and went limp on the grass, his ever-present smirk never dropping.

“Guess I still gotta few things to learn, huh?” Jason asked breathlessly.

“Don't ever touch me like this again.”

“What the fuck ever, you fucking sheep.” Jason said. “You've done all kinds of sick shit for him and he _still_ doesn’t love you. He never will. I do.”

“You’re my brother and you’re fourteen.” Dick said. Jason didn’t know what he was asking, Dick knew. Dick couldn’t do that to Jason, knowing how bad it messed him up when he was at the boy’s home.

“Well, that’s not a problem for beloved boss.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Jason said.

“You're lying.”

“Oh, I didn't want it at first, but I really came around, he's not the kind of man you say no to, at least not a third time.”

“I—"

“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. It’s been every night since you’ve moved out. Guess he missed you. Just kidding. He doesn’t even notice you’re gone. I replaced you, Dickie. Talon is mine. He’s mine.”

“Jason, I swear to god—”

“And soon he’ll be gone, and I’ll become him. Then you’ll be mine. You’re going to give me everything you gave him. The difference is I won’t throw you away after. Because I love you, despite the fact that you’re stupid as hell.”

Dick let Jason go and successfully stopped himself from hyperventilating. The kid slid out from under him and stood before him. He stared down at him with utter contempt, letting a sliver of hurt crack through his mask of hatred.

Dick turned his face down to the ground and grabbed the grass until it pulled out, as his vision went blurry, but no tears. He should be more worried about Jason than jealous. He hates himself for that.

The smell of cigarette smoke broke through the fresh air of their Eden. He watched Jason’s dirty, red, converses as the kid smoked. Jason knelt on one knee, and tangled his fingers in Dick’s hair, painfully yanking until Dick had no choice but to look at the kid’s face.

His lake green eyes were hard as he blew cigarette smoke in Dick’s face.

“I thought I’d be the last person you’d ever let him hurt.”

*

Jason still wasn’t talking to him a few days later, and Dick was smothered with guilt. He hadn’t the guts to confront his master about the sick things he’s doing to Jason in his office. Every time he gets to the door, he got dizzy like the doorknob was cursed. He does the next <strike>worse</strike> best thing—runs away.

He’d asked Jason to come with him and live somewhere, like, Japan or something where Owlman can never hurt them again, but the boy was made of plans and purposes, with the end game to burn down Gotham so something better can grow in its place—no more Crime Syndicate of America, no more innocents getting caught in the crossfire, no more Owlman.

He also said he doesn’t want to talk to Dick until he’s tied to his bed, since force is the only thing Dick understands…so there’s that.

Dick bought three bus tickets to Metropolis, Star City, and Seattle. He registered in four different hostels in England, two in Tokyo and Osaka. He bought four tickets to Paris, Amsterdam, Hong Kong and Mexico City before hopping a bus to Blüdhaven and renting an apartment there. He doesn’t think Owlman would fall for all the lies and false leads he left behind, and it was a moot point since he gave Jason his new number, but he had to try.

*

_“After I take this city, I’m gonna take you—whenever I want, however I want. You’re gonna get on your knees for me, Dickie boy. When I get through with you, you’ll never call me ‘little brother’ again. You’re gonna call me daddy.”_

*

1996

The television whispered in the background as Dick stared at the beige, mosaic of water stains on the ceiling of his apartment. He’s in a nest of blankets, but he’s still cold. He’s washed technicolor in the dark room by the light of the screen. He’s been listening for any news of Jay, or _Talon_, since the kid turned the once grim symbol into a signal of hope—He'd broken away from Owlman and became boy king of the scum who wanted a chance at redemption, a better world. He was a shadow. Dick couldn’t even find him…and fuck, did he try.

But there’s no room for heroes in Gotham, as he’d come to find out, when the news reported on the latest fight between Owlman and Talon—one that alarmed Dick so much he ended up crashing into the Owlcave, and catching Jason with his hands tied behind his back in Owlman’s office chair, washed blue by the billboard wide, dead screens of the cave, his head bowed, with a river of stark red blood gushing from his mouth and nose that spoke of deadly internal injuries.

He didn’t notice Owlman until he was on his master, trying to ruin that beautiful face to make him look like the twisted monster he truly is. He didn’t stop even when Owlman’s mechanical talon’s tore into the flesh of Dick’s side, painting hot stripes of blood where knives and skin married.

It ended when he knocked the man out with one of the crowbars he had sitting between the blood-soaked pliers and hammer. Owlman fell limp. Dick doesn’t even remember what immediately came after until the boy was in the back seat of his car, stripped of the Talon armor, only wearing a black under shirt that clung to him with blood and tights, he was shoeless and hadn’t regained consciousness, but as long as he was breathing, there was hope.

Traffic was stuffed on the Gotham City bridge, so he took another way to get to the hospital, but by the time they got there—Jason was gone. The doctors agreed--dead on arrival.

Dick cried for the first time since he was ten years old.

He stole the body before they could take him to the morgue. He loaded the kid into his car, not sure where he was going until he ended up under the oak tree where they spent countless hours just talking and reading comic books.

Starry was the night, when cut the earth with his own hands. Time moved like sludge. He felt as he’d been digging forever, his hands numb, his tears burning—it felt like a limb had been torn from him.

Jason was sleeping beauty, with his pale skin washed clean of all blood—Owlman had left the kid’s face untouched. Dick combed Jason’s dyed black hair, wishing he could see the vibrant red underneath, one last time.

If he knew this was coming (which he should have) he would’ve given the boy everything he wanted under this tree. He would’ve given Jason himself and now he’ll never have the chance to.

The boy was buried, and Dick tried not to think about how his flesh would turn soft, his heart would spoil, and that beautiful face would crumple to the dust as the body would be eaten by ants and other creatures.

Dick laid on the dew studded grass next to the earth coffin, as the epitaph in his head flickered as bright as if it were on a Jenny Holzer billboard:

_Here lies Jason Peter Todd,_

_Gotham's rebellious angel._

_1981 - ∞_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I posted this before then felt bad and took it down but here it is again. I really like the way it's written so here we go.  
2) I wrote this when I was 16 but I updated it a little, made it more poetic.  
3) Unbeta'd.  
4) This was influenced by my fanfic hero in a big way but I'm too afraid to link them because I don't want them reading this fanfiction.  
5) My girlfriend is my biggest cheerleader and baddest influence. Look at her art [HERE.](https://www.instagram.com/mushroomseeds/)  
6) All the titles are song references. Eyes Without a Face (Billy Idol), Mad World/No Tomorrow (Tears for Fears), Like a Virgin (Madonna), Where the Shadows run from themselves (A lyric from Cream's White Room), and Cherry Bomb (The Runaways.)  
7) Tell me what you think, even if you don't like it! I love to know where I stand.  
8) Thanks for reading!


	2. Heart of Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey this contains major spoilers for [THIS FANFIC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887310), just in case you want to read that first.

2002

Love will tear us apart

It was pissing rain when they lowered Damian into the mouth of the earth. The teardrops of heaven rattled like pearls against the shiny, black coffin as the glaucoma grey sky dimmed midday in Gotham. The dark corpse of a building that was the back of Wayne Manor loomed just beyond the generic gravestone they set up, showing only the boy’s name—Damian al Ghul, not Wayne. Dick didn’t know how to feel about that. Not his birthday, his birthplace, or the date of his death. 

Once the last shovel of mud settled on the mound of grass, Owlman disappeared, along with Alfred and Tim, draining until it’s just Dick, the indifferent summer wind and rain, settling upon his shoulders until he’s so soaked until he’s numb with coldness, the only feeling going through his body was the itch of his throat wound through his bandage. 

They buried Damian the next day—didn’t waste time with a funeral or an investigation into the kid’s death. There’s no doubt this was the work of the Red Hood. Tim had said he and Damian made the stupid mistake of looking for the wannabe vigilante on their own, even though they knew they were horribly outmatched. Something kicked around in Dick’s gut that this whole situation felt _wrong_. It’s not like Tim to be so brash as to go off halfcocked—the kid liked his battles won before they’re fought—so why did he suddenly decide to go out by himself? Not tell Owlman or Dick where he’s going? It didn’t make sense, but what did is that Damian is gone and never coming back—just like Jason. 

Dick clenched his fist and relaxed it before shoving his hands in his pocket because they itch to be wet with blood instead of the purifying rain they were currently drenched in. He was going to make the Red Hood hurt as badly as he is. He dreams about ripping the man apart and stomping until there’s nothing but the wine of blood and pulp of organs staining the pavement. Beat him until what’s left of him could fit in a bucket. 

He knew—goddamn it—he knew he shouldn’t have gotten attached to the kid. Forever is temporary in the Owl family. After Jason—he promised he’d never let himself hurt like this again. He should’ve done something. He should’ve told Owlman that Damian was too young—that he deserved a childhood, away from all this murder and death, at least until he was old enough to make the decision himself. He deserved that...but really, if they got what they deserved, they’d all be dead. 

Dick took a deep breath in the cold, wet, wind as he thought back about Damian’s little face at Jason’s grave. His dark eyelashes against his honey brown skin as he closed his eyes and pressed his petal soft lips against Dick, and how Dick’s stomach sank because he couldn’t do what Damian asked of him—he couldn’t hurt him like Dick was hurt in the St. Jude’s boy’s home...but if he knew it was going to be the kid’s last day alive, **he** would’ve kissed him like he was the one who was dying and would’ve never stopped. 

Dick was awoken from the prison of his mind when the raindrops stopped falling. He looked up to find a black hole of an umbrella over him and looked down to see Tim staring up at him, sunny ocean blue eyes, stormy grey by the weather. He was still in his funeral tie and suit—the teen, Owlman, and Alfred all dressed up for the occasion while Dick only stood in his _Blondie_ T-shirt, jeans, and Nike’s, Damian wouldn’t care. 

Tim looked as untouched and as caring as the emotionless stone effigies of headstones surrounding them. Just a dull, uninterested gaze mixed with a little annoyance. Dick knew the two kids didn’t like each other, he knew that he was the only one grieving, though he couldn’t even do that right—he just felt wrung out like an old dish rag and strangely tearless—Jason stole them all. 

Tim bumped Dick’s knuckles with his, the only support he could expect from the kid, which was a lot considering that it’s Tim—the kid hadn’t touched Dick since he was twelve. Dick bumps his shoulder against the kid to show him that it’s appreciated. Tim smiled but it was gone as quick as a flash of lightening. 

“You’re going to get sick.” Tim said. 

“I’m already sick.” Sick of life, sick of soul, sick of death, sick of the Owl family. 

“Poetic.” Tim said. Dick couldn’t tell if the kid was being sarcastic or not, since his voice never changes. “He’s gone. It’s raining and you’re going to come inside.” The flat tone left no room for arguing. 

Dick swallowed what felt like a rock in his throat. Sometimes, when the kid speaks, he reminds him so much of Owlman that it almost scares him.

“In a minute.” Dick said. 

A minute of crows talking passed before Tim spoke again. “What are you hoping to see by staying out here?” 

“Nothing. I’m just thinking.” 

“There’s nothing you could have done. Damian didn’t belong here. If he knew his place, he’d still be alive.”

“You suck at cheering people up, you know that?” Dick said.

“I apologize. I just meant...he wasn’t ready.”

“Yeah.” Dick said before turning toward the house and walking across the graveyard, the grass slick under the soles of his shoes. Tim follows him at a respectful distance until they walk through the side door of Wayne Manor. Inside, they find the barely used smoking room. Dick walked through the mansion—the place looking bigger without Damian—on autopilot until he got to the room that used to be Damian’s. 

The kid’s room is unnaturally blank, like one straight out of Motel 6. The only thing that remains of the boy is a yellow stain on the white throw rug by his bed, where he knocked over a can of Orange Crush. Alfred worked fast. 

It used to be a chaotic mess, with more weapons concealed in the closet and between the bed and the springboard than probably a soldier in the army would carry. There used to be a pile of G.I. Joes in different states on the vanity and a singular Power Puff Girls poster that the kid was weirdly not ashamed off. 

Now the bed is blank with cream colored sheets. It took a piece of Dick’s soul that he still didn’t know he had left. 

He sat on the side of the bed, facing the window so he could stare out into the sharp mountains. It’s as beautiful as a painting, framed with fluttering, white curtains. The bed dipped when Tim sat next to him, almost an arm's length away. This time, he was missing his suit jacket. 

“I’ll be alright.” Dick said. He carefully doesn’t tell Tim about the plan to eat the lead pill when he gets to his apartment, though a tiny part of him wants to take Owlman with him. 

“I know.” Tim said. They grew quiet again, but Dick was used to silence with Tim. The bed shifted when Tim scooted closer and placed his cold hand over Dick’s. It was getting weird—Tim never touched anyone.

Dick wanted to ask if the teen was okay. Maybe he was feeling sorrow over Damian’s death, but it wasn’t likely. Still, Dick placed his arm around Tim’s shoulder and pulled him close. The boy froze but didn’t move away. After a few seconds, Tim leaned into him. He was warm and smelled of expensive cologne—the same one Owlman wears. He’s skinny and small like a bird. His hair is soft—he is familiar in Dick’s arms. It reminds him so much of how they used to be. Jason, Tim, Damian—he wished they didn’t have to grow up.

Tim pulled back and watched Dick in the shimmery darkness, the only light leaking in from the lamppost outside of Wayne Manor, coloring them in streaks of gold. The boy’s eyes were painted black in the low light.

“So, why…” Tim was uncharacteristically hesitant. “Were….”

“What are you asking, Tim?”

“You and Damian spent a lot of time together.”

“Yeah?”

“I was just wondering—”

“No. He was a kid. Don’t be weird.”

“No. I was going to ask you why you loved him.”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Why won’t you answer it?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.” Dick said.

“It’s just…you never looked at me the way you looked at him.”

“That’s not true, Tim and you know it.”

“And you never treated me like you treated him.”

“You never let me.” Dick said. “Tim, what prompted this? Why are you really here?”

Tim takes a deep breath before pressing their lips together. The boy grips Dick’s wrist hard enough to bruise to stop him from moving. Dick took a deep breath through his nose, his stomach sinking. He waited for the boy to pull back before running his hands through his own hair.

“Tim, whatever you want this to be? It’s not, okay, sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my brother. You’re a kid and I…just can’t imagine having a relationship right now. I love you, Tim. I just can’t be in love with you. Do you understand?”

Tim frowned and went in for another kiss. Dick placed his hand on Tim’s chest to stop him.

“Hey, what did I just say?”

Tim looked hurt for a fraction of a second before covering it with his usual emotionless mask. He never released Dick's wrist from his iron grip.

“He’s never going to love you.” Owlman's name laid heavy as a loaded gun. “Especially not as much as he loved Jason.”

“Tim. Watch it.”

“No one will ever love you except me and deep down you know it.” Tim said. “No matter how much you pathetically pine for him, no matter how many people you fuck. It won't fill that empty hole inside of you. I’m offering to give you a purpose.”

“Fuck you.”

“Eventually.” Tim said before standing and fixing his tie, staring blankly at Dick. “It’s time to face facts, Dick. You’re mine, but I can wait a little longer. I would love for you to be with me of your own volition, but that doesn’t matter. The results will be the same. You will get on your knees for me.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“We’ll see.” Tim said as he walked to the door. He stopped to watch Dick once he reached it. “Think about what I said.” Tim closed the door behind himself, leaving Dick in the dark.

Dick pressed his palm into his eyes hard enough to bruise.

*

They don’t talk much after, every room they were in together became colder. They only speak about business or when Tim alternates between hitting on him and insulting him. Still, Dick tries his best to get things back to they used to be.

It didn’t happen.

*

2002

Father Figure

Dick clocked Slade Wilson in the jaw after the man had stupidly opened the Super 8 motel room door without checking. The man was sprawled out on the floor as Dick walked in the room, locked the door behind himself and stripped off his leather jacket. He straddled the ex-mercenary before the man could make a move toward one of the many guns he no doubt had hidden throughout the room and slipped the dagger strapped to his calf, placing it against the man’s Adam’s apple.

“Hi, handsome.” Dick said.

“You’re younger than I would’ve thought.” Slade said.

Dick had tracked the Justice Underground antihero to this motel in Miami, Florida. Instead of playing cat and mouse with him, Dick had decided to forgo his uniform or a disguise and just knock on the door only wearing his trusty leather jacket, some jeans, a _Wham!_ t-shirt, and his white Nikes. Why bother with the mask? Deathstroke was going to be dead soon.

“You’re a hard man to pin down.” Dick said.

“Apparently not.” Slade said. He shifted under Dick, and Dick’s ready for him to try and knock him off but the man doesn’t. He just watches him with a cool gaze. He didn’t seem like the type to beg for his life. He seemed indifferent to death. Just like…

So, they’ve already gotten to third base under their alter egos. It happened last month in a dark alley when they were both out of bullets. Dick had pressed his lips against the man’s drinking in the old wine of blood and stuck his hands down Slade's pants.

Slade dragged his free hand up under Dick’s t-shirt, leaving a hot trail up Dick’s sticky skin until his fingers curled around Dick’s neck. Dick lets his eyes flutter closed as he broke out into an itchy sweat, Slade’s fingernails leaving red crescent against the vulnerable skin of Dick’s jugular. Dick tightens his grip around the dagger before letting it fall to the floor beside Slade’s head.

Slade clasped his other hand around Dick’s hip as Dick tipped his head back, rocking against the man as Slade hardens immediately against his thigh.

“Is this your way of making sure I don’t fight back?” Slade groaned out as his hand clamped down on Dick's hips, sure to leave purple bruises.

“Yup. How am I doing so far?” Dick pressed down against him, electric pleasure shot through him. He tangled his hands in his own hair.

“Fucking amazing, kid.”

*

Dick didn’t know what this thing with Slade was. It’s the first time he’d opposed Owlman—not killing Slade and fucking him instead was his own little rebellion. It didn’t mean much because despite everything, Justice Underground was losing people and territory against the Crime syndicate of America's tyranny and cruelty. Dick sympathizes with them and if things were a little different, he might’ve been one of them but he knows this way of thinking is dangerous but it doesn’t change anything. He’s still Owlman's soldier and he’ll still kill every member of Justice Underground without any hesitation.

Even Slade.

*

Slade's strong hand wrapped around Dick's wrist tight enough to bruise and pulled him in. Dick’s stomach sank until he remembered this was Slade, not Owlman, no matter how much he wanted him to be.

The Justice Underground antihero had caught Dick burning himself with cigarettes again. Dick hadn’t realized he was doing it.

“Stop it. At least when you’re around me.” Slade said.

“Hey, I thought you like your boys insane.” Dick said before yanking his arm back and going to sit on the end of the bed of Slade's motel room.

“This ain't funny.”

“Fuck off.” Dick said. “And stop.”

“Stop?”

“Pretending like you care.”

“What if I do?”

“Then you’re stupid or lying.” Dick said. “I'd bet on the latter. You only like me because I let you fuck me.”

“Kid…”

“Speaking of which.” Dick said before pushing Slade against the wall hard enough for the man to grunt and covering his mouth with his. The antihero let out a sigh, slowly opening his mouth to drink Dick in. His soft, slick, hot mouth tasted of the leftover beers they were drinking. Not enough to get drunk, since Slade didn’t like thinking he’s taking advantage of Dick, which was kind of sweet.

Dick bit Slade's bottom lip before he pulled back and watched Slade’s blue eye darken with lust, the man was watching him like he was in a daze, heavy lidded and dazzled.

Dick thinks Slade’s loves him when they fuck, but he also thinks the man gets over it the second after he comes. Slade’s easy, like most of the men he sleeps with (women are more complicated. Who knows what they want? That’s why he loves them, but he seems to make them nervous) but for some reason, he keeps returning to Slade, despite their promises to kill each other every “last” time they meet.

Dick gets to his knees and runs his hands up Slade's defined sides. The man takes a deep breath and combs his fingers through Dick’s hair before holding, while Dick ghosts his lips on Slade’s lower abdomen.

“What if I kept the mask on? Like old times, you know?” Dick murmurs against the hair on Slade's stomach. The man shudders.

“No, I want to see you.”

“What are you hoping to see?”

“I don’t know. At one time it would’ve been love but I don’t think you’re capable of that, not yet anyway.”

“But you’re going to teach me?” Dick asked sarcastically.

“One day.”

“Good luck.” Dick took off his mask, letting it fall on the growing pile of clothes near the bed before sitting there himself and scooting up to the pillows. The motel bed is cheap, squeaking as he lies on his back staring at the mosaic of water stains on the ceiling.

Slade climbs in after him, before covering his body with his own—hard, hot, and heavy, over him, making him feel small just like Owlman did when he was fifteen. He smelled of old cigars and cologne. Dick cupped the back of Slade’s neck, drawing their lips together, warm and wet, tasting like smoke.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, kid.” Slade breathed between their lips before stripping off his shirt, underwear, and pants, leaving room for Dick to remove his own clothing until they were both naked as they came.

The hot flush of skin against him was biblical, overwhelming. It always felt like the first time with Slade. Just as intense as a wild fire.

The man settles between Dick's legs, cupping underneath Dick's thighs to lift Dick’s knees up as Dick’s stomach sinks.

They’ve done this countless times, but never in this position—usually Dick is on his knees with Slade behind him, pounding him roughly. This was way more intimate than Dick was comfortable with.

“Slade—fuck.” Dick groaned out as the man slid home, stretching him. The familiar burn going straight to his cock. It was always too dry, bordering deliciously on pain, which Dick liked, which Dick knew, which Dick was familiar with.

Dick clawed Slade’s back as the man begin a deep rhythm, causing Dick to teeter on the edge already. Fireworks bloomed and died behind the curtain of his eyes as Slade stuffed him with pieces of himself.

“Open your eyes, baby.” Slade breathed out, warm wet mouth skimming Dick's.

Dick would listen to anything Slade had to say when he used that tone of voice, so Dick flickered his eyes open to watch a sapphire blue one and something clicked, it was as beautiful as Vincent's Starry Night.

“Slade…” Dick groaned as he gripped the nape of the man’s neck, drawing him near to devour him with a kiss. Slade grabbed his hips, pressing deeper into him. That meant the man was close, he once said he could never really last long. Dick said his name, smooth and velvety. “Yeah, just like that.”

Slade was always quiet when they fucked, the only indication from him at all was his labored breathing. Dick slid his hand between their slick bodies and circled his own cock, adding a stab of pleasure that made him sob. He fucked himself in time with Slade’s thrusts until he release, coating his hand and Slade’s abdomen—it was biblical. Slade sped up, pounding him causing Dick’s toes to curl. The man spilled inside of him, groaning into Dick’s mouth.  
  


They should really be using condoms.

Slade pulls out and Dick feels empty again. It was over and now they go back to being enemies because Dick won’t leave Owlman and Slade vowed to clean up the world against Dick's master’s tyranny. Unstoppable force, immovable object and what not.

Dick pulled on his uniform and placed on his mask. He started to climb out of the window but was held back by Slade’s hand gripping his wrist.

“You don’t need to work for him.” Slade said.

“You don’t need to work for them.” Dick replied.

“I don’t.” Slade said. “Maybe if things were different and we both—”

“You’d really stop working for Justice Underground? For me?”

“Yeah. If I believed you were capable of doing the same which I don’t.”

“Heh. Smartest thing you’ve said all day.” Dick pulled his arm out of Slade’s grasp. “See ya.”

“Until next time.” Slade said. It was full of pessimistic hope and it made Dick feel _something_. He didn’t know what.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dick said softly. The only affirmative answer he could give was: “Whatever.”

*

2003

Just a Girl

“Hey, Dickweed!”

Stephanie Brown’s smile was too sweet for someone wearing a dagger strapped to her calf, just above her dull, black Dr. Martens. She was five foot three and wearing a polka dot, navy blue baby doll dress. Her hair flowed down in golden waves, flooding to her collar bones. Her face was round. Her eyes were doe big and ice blue. Her full lips were rose pink and always in a quirk. She was elf thin and flexible.

Stephanie had taken the whole ‘good girl gone bad’ thing to another level. She originally was a member of Justice Underground with her father, taking down the criminals on Owlman’s payroll. She did such a good job that Tim was sent to kill her. Dick had no idea how they went from that to dating so fast, but one day the girl had turned in her father to Owlman, earning her a rank in his army. In the end, Arthur Brown got away, but he left a few fingers behind.

The girl’s relationship with Tim was welcomed. It made Nighthawk seem like a normal teenager, navigating the waters of puppy love for the first time. The little weirdo had an answer for everything except Stephanie. She kept him on his toes, kept him guessing. It was fun to watch him try to figure her out.

Stephanie was sitting alone on the leather couch in the parlor but stood upon seeing Dick. A huge smile spread out on her face, as pretty as a sunrise. She suddenly charged him, jumping into his arms, trying to knock him over like always—sometimes he lets her do so, but today he held still until she gave up and threw her arms around his neck. She smelled like Teen Spirit.

“Yo.” Dick said as he wrapped his arms around her. “What’s up.”

“I’m so bored!” Stephanie answered before stepping back. “Tim’s at tutoring. He got an eighty percent on his last test and couldn’t live with it apparently.”

“Well, you know him.”

“Let’s do something.” Stephanie said. “There’s video games upstairs that are going un-played.”

“Can’t. Here on business.”

“Stealing brandy from the bar isn’t business.” Stephanie pouted.

“Owlman called me in.”

“Oh.” Stephanie said quietly. She never talked about his master, as if invoking his name would conjure him. “What does he want?”

“Don’t know yet, but, hey, maybe after we can go to the mall.”

“I can’t. I have to be here when Tim gets back.”

“Have to?” Dick asked. Stephanie nodded. Dick decided to be frank. “That little weirdo isn’t hitting you, is he?”

“No.” Stephanie said before shrugging. “I just want to be here when he gets back, is all.”

“Uh-huh.” Dick said. “Well, we’ll hang out later then.”

“And do what?”

“Whatever you want to.”

“That’s what I like to hear! Get ready to be in pain, Dick Grayson.”

“Training? Again?”

“I’m gonna knock you down one day, for real.”

“Consider me intimidated.”

*

Stephanie was almost like having Jason back, with her hyperactivity, her inability to take anything seriously, her infectious laughter, her pranks, though there was a different side to her. She took the job of Spoiler seriously, bucking for the job of Talon almost as much as Damian did. She was like two people, fun Steph until she slipped on the cowl, she became a knife eyed warrior, willing to do anything Owlman or Tim asked. She had a distinct lack of guilt that rivaled his master. She had a taste for violence and considered a mission boring when there wasn’t at least one death.

Dick suspected she would kill anyone for any reason (even him, if the mood struck her), except when it came to Tim. She was his loyal servant and it made Dick sick how much it reminded him of his and Owlman’s relationship.

But still, Stephanie was one relationship he was glad to have—though it wasn’t as strong as Jason and Damian’s relationship with and deep down in his soul, he knew it never would be because that part of him is gone, buried with them.

*

Stephanie’s blue eyes were painted black under the dim glow of the lamp on his corner table. He sat on the couch as she wore a path into his shag carpet by pacing back and forth. She had barged into his apartment around eight o’ clock at night, fretting over something. She wouldn’t tell him what was wrong or look him in the eyes, so he decided to just be quiet until she give up the ghost.

She stopped pacing and turned her sparkly eyed gaze to him.

“Dick…I’m pregnant.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Three pregnancy tests sure.” Stephanie said. “Tim is going to kill me.”

“Is it his?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure?”

“We’ve never had sex.”

“Oh.” Dick said. “Do you know whose it is?”

“Yeah.”  
  
“Want to tell me?” Dick asked. Stephanie shook her head as she stared at the ground.

“Is it because you’re afraid?” Dick asked.

Stephanie nodded. “Please, Dick. You can’t tell Owlman.”

Dick’s stomach sank. “Wait, he’s not…is he?”

“Just don’t tell him.”

“Stephanie, if someone is hurting you—”

“Dick. Don’t.”

“Okay, okay.” Dick said. “How can I help?”

“Obviously, I have to get rid of it.” Stephanie said mostly to herself before her blue gaze rested on Dick. “Right?”

“Stephanie.”

“There is no way for me to take care of a baby. I’m Talon—I mean Spoiler. I’m a soldier. I belong to Owlman. I belong to Tim.”

“You don’t belong to anyone.” Dick said. He was fully aware of his hypocrisy. The only time he'd felt like he was the master of his own destiny was when he had a needle in his arm or when he was fucking someone he shouldn’t. “Just tell me what you, Stephanie, want.”

“I want to keep it.” Stephanie rushed out before covering her mouth as if she could pop the thought back between her lips.

“Then you need to leave.” Dick said. “I’ll help. I’ll get you set up in a place, with money and—"

“You’ll come with me?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Stephanie said as she sat next to him and placed her small, thin hand over his. “I can’t do this alone.”

“Stephanie, I physically can’t. If I come with you, Owlman will never let you go. I tried to leave already; you know that.”

“Then we’ll hide. Far away somewhere and live happily ever after.” The girl said before moving over him and peppering his face with tear soaked kisses as if she were trying to bribe him.

He put his hand against her slowly, and applied slight pressure. She got the idea and moved back.  
  
“Stephanie, I’m sorry, but I can’t. Just…let me protect you in this way.”

“Fine.” Stephanie sighed out. “Will you visit me?”

“Yeah, of course.” Dick said. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’ve always wanted to see Japan, but I’ll settle for Star City.”

“Okay, I—”

“I want to tell Tim goodbye.”

“You absolutely cannot do that.”

“He’ll understand, he loves me, right?”

“If you have to ask, Steph…”

“I know him, Dick. He won’t—”

“I know him better.” Dick said, forgoing telling her about Tim’s obsession with controlling him. “If you tell him, he will not let you go. Owlman won’t let you go. We’re things to them, Stephanie! Just leave, okay? Please.”

“I—okay, Dick. Okay. I understand.” Stephanie said. Deep down, Dick didn’t believe her, but he had hope.

*

The airport was full of the dull roar of conversation. People moved along with their blinders on as he stood right outside of it, with a ticket in his hand, waiting for Stephanie to arrive with what little things she could carry. He has her set up in Star City with a guy who owes him a favor—Connor Hawke, one of his old contacts and the son of the assassin Green Arrow who he cut ties with. Connor was also in hiding. He’ll be good to her.

Dick called her cellphone when day subsided to afternoon—it went straight to voicemail. That didn’t bode well, but he waited until her plane took off before driving to the manor.

The building was empty—no Owlman, no Tim, no Alfred, and no Stephanie. Dick went to her room, hoping for once that she didn’t trust him and ran off by herself. He was heartbroken to find the backpack she always uses on the bed.

He went to Tim’s room on instinct and found her cellphone on the boy’s nightstand.

Dick's stomach sank as he got back in his car, not sure what to do next. Gotham was too big of a city to just be driving around looking for someone, so he called Tim. The teen didn’t answer, and Dick went home.

He was awoken in the middle of the night by a call from Stephanie.

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” She said flatly.

“Oh.” Dick didn’t know what else to say so he let the girl sob quietly into his ear before telling her that it was going to be okay. Whatever it was, whatever happened—it was going to be okay. It had to be. The only other alternative was death.

After that, Stephanie wasn’t the same anymore. She seemed like she was on autopilot, like someone had vacuumed her soul from her body. She was quiet, and always watching the ground and hugging herself. She looked a lot like him at that age.

Tim didn’t seem to notice or care. Business carried on as usual for the Owl Family, only Dick seemed to know a piece of the puzzle was missing.

*

Her skull was cracked open like an egg as her limbs were bent at odd angles like a puppet that had its strings cut. Her blue eyes stared at nothing for all eternity. Crimson bubbled from her lips. Her angel blonde hair was dyed red with her own blood. Her skin was pale.

She was lying at the feet of the Gotham radio tower. It’s unclear if she jumped, fell or was pushed to her death.

Her demise doesn’t carry the same weight as Jason’s or Damian’s. He hated that he was expecting it from the first day he’d laid eyes on her smile.

Happily ever afters don’t happen in places like this.

*

2004

The Killing Moon

“Is Jason still alive? In your world?” Dick asked Batman. The man had been silent as the grave since Dick had gotten back an hour ago. Dick was still dressed in his Talon uniform, sans the mask he’s clutching in his fist. He’d been ignoring all attempts the Owl Family made to contact him—a feat he wouldn’t have imagined since before he “acquired” Batman.

The bat watched him with apathy. It’s so infuriating that Dick wants to smash his face in.

He’s not really expecting an answer until…

“No.”

Dick’s eyes itch, but he doesn’t cry. He instead dressed up in his best smirk.

“I thought so.”

“Why?” Batman asked. Dick didn’t really expect the man to keep the conversation afloat. He’s not the chattiest of guys these days.

“I just thought—whatever.” Dick shrugged. “I should’ve known miracles don’t happen in places like this.”

“Dick—"

“Talon.”

“Dick.” Batman said again. Dick let out a shuddery breath. He hated how refreshing it felt to have Owlman say his actual name. Not Talon. Just Dick. “I miss Jason too. He’s dead because of me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you do?”

“I couldn’t protect him. Everyone around me has a tendency of dying. I should’ve never let him into my world.”

Dick slowly sat down in the broken lawn chair and hunched over until his elbows were on his knees. He laced his fingers to crown as he stared down at the grimy, checkered, linoleum.

“I…know how that feels. If I hadn’t been so fucking selfish, he would still be here. I should’ve left him in the storage unit I found him in. He would still be alive and Owlman would’ve never…”

“Never?”

“Used him.” Dick said. Judging by Batman’s intensified frown, he knew exactly what Dick meant. “He was just a kid, Batman. He was defenseless and at the time, I was just jealous that it wasn’t me Owlman was doing that to. I failed him in every possible way. I should be in the ground. Not him.”

“How did it happen?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Dick said. “Owlman killed him when he did what I couldn’t do—fight back.”

“That does sound like Jason.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dick said. “What about Red Hood?”

“There’s a Red Hood here as well?”

“Mmhmm.” Dick said. “I tracked him down. I’m going to face him in secret, you know? Just…I have to be sure. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. I had similar thoughts about Red Hood, but I had to come here first, in order to—”

“Don’t start.” Dick stood up and ran his hand through his greasy hair. Pacing is a tell and the enemy should never know you’re on edge but all this shit with Jason—he’d never talked about it to anyone. He wasn’t prepared for the rising tide of emotion. It almost felt good. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Dick,”

“This place isn’t worth saving. It never was.”

Batman watched him with compassion and understanding. He makes it look natural, despite looking exactly like Owlman.

“Come here.” Batman said. Dick should be ashamed at how fast he followed the man’s instructions, listening unconditionally like a kicked dog. He needed to remember this man was not Owlman. He’s an unknown and fucking dangerous, but there was a war between Dick’s head and heart. A blurring of lines.

He stood next to the bed, studying the contours of the man’s face—he could close his eyes and remember every detail, down to the last eyelash. He reaches out and traces his hand down the visible vein on the Bat’s forearm. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Batman’s mouth. The man doesn’t move away like he usually does, but still Dick holds his jaw in place out of habit before covering the bat’s mouth with his. He still doesn’t move, so Dick crawls on top of him, tucking his head under the bat’s chin, letting the sure breathing rock him like a cradle, the bat’s heart calms him like a lullaby. 

“I want to touch you.” Batman said quietly. Dick shuddered as his fingers move like they were enchanted. They skimmed the cuffs on the man’s wrist. What he wouldn’t give to have those strong fingers comb through hair. He sat up, straddling the man’s thighs with his, letting the lava hot body creep through his form.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. You remind me so much of Robin—Nightwing.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know it?”

“No, though if I ever get out of this, I’ll tell him.” Batman said. “I’ll show him.”

“Show him?” Dick asked breathlessly.

“Yes.” Batman said. “But you’re right in front of me, aren’t you?”

“I…”

“I could show you.” Batman’s hot hand rests on his thigh. Dick almost shivers out of his skin as he hardens instantly, too lost to feel ashamed of himself. Batman’s honeyed words sticking on his skin. “My son. The only real light left in my life. You’re what I’m doing this for. I want to create a better world for you.”

Every word was like shooting heroin through his veins. He’d imagined this scenario as many times as there are stars in the sky. Owlman touching him, loving him, encouraging him, a sinful mix of a father and a lover. He gets off on the fantasy, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s through waiting for the man to see that they’re meant for each other.

“Bruce,” Not Owlman, not sir, just Bruce. He breathes it out like smoke, trying it—it fits melts on his tongue like chocolate. His heart flutters as he watches Batman’s soft, blue eyes through the veil of his eyelashes, with his lips slightly parted.

“Dick, I want to touch you.” Batman says lowly. “It’s killing me not to. But first…”

“Anything.”

“You have to loosen these binds.”

Dick took a deep breath before laying on him until their lips were inches apart. He trailed his fingers across the coarseness of the binds on the Bat’s wrists before staring deep into those stormy ocean blues. He breathes into the caesura of their hot, static lips:

“How stupid do you think I am?”

Dick gets off him, cold river water snuffing out the red-hot desire under his skin. It fucks him up knowing how close he was to being used again. “Trying to manipulate me to suit your own ends. Maybe you’re more like Owlman than I thought.”

“Look, Dick, I wasn’t lying to you. I do care about you.”

“Wow, I totally feel the love. Your concerns were completely altruistic and had nothing to do with getting free and leaving me.” Dick said. “Good thing, you’re the one who taught me that if you let someone get close to you, that only means they need a shorter knife to stab you in the back with.”

“Owlman taught you that. I did nothing.” Batman said. “And it certainly isn’t true. I used to think that way until I adopted Richard Grayson. He taught me that it was an empty way to live.”

“It’s the only way I know how to.” Dick said. That shuts the Batman up. Guess their impromptu therapy session is over. He put on his mask and it covers his feelings in concrete, like an old tomb. He's numb again. He’s Talon. “Well adios, bats, I got a date with a ghost.”

*

The thin vein of the alleyway he prowled was sketched in black ink and high shadow like a monochrome comic book. There are old, bruised garbage cans brimming with trash, sticking out of the grimy, grey bricked walkway like weeds. The bitter wind carried the stench of rotting everything as the melting rain pissed down from the steel clouds.

He’d tracked the Red Hood down to one of these forgotten apartments via a tracker on the vigilante's motorcycle. The only matter is which one to investigate first.

“Hey, riding hood. What are you doing so deep in the woods? Don't you know there are wolves out here?” Red Hood's voice modular scraped. He was on the fire escape of the second floor of some wilting apartment complex. The light of the room behind him blinked on with his words, outlining his form with a halo of gold.

He was a shadow in all black, the only color on his was the cherry red motorcycle helmet in place of his usual mask.

“I’m here to kill you.” Dick said. He wasn't in the mood for games.

“Really now?” Red Hood leaned over the thin railing of the fire escape stairs. “That didn’t work out so well last time, Dickie. Plus, the kids aren’t here to save you now.”

“Don't talk about them. This is between you and me”

“Where are they, anyway?” Red Hood continued as if Dick hadn't spoken. “Wait, don’t tell me you let _another_ one of them die.”

Dick would’ve flinched if this were two years ago, but he hadn't really felt alive since Damian's death, though he still clenches his fist, his knuckles too dry—aching to be painted with hot, wet blood, to pound the Red Hood until he’s nothing but meat and bone shards. It’s a hatred he’d never felt before—a hate so strong it even rivals the distain he has for himself.

“You’re going to die for what you did to Damian.”

“What_ I_ did to the little rascal? Heh, you should check closer to home before you go around making accusations.”

“Fuck you.”

“You always had a way with words.” The Red Hood said. “Well, it was nice talking to you but I’ve gotta get going. Say hi to daddy and the kids for me. I’ll be paying them a visit soon enough. Things are falling into place, Dickie bird. Soon Gotham will be mine. Soon you’ll be mine.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Dick was not going to let him disappear for another two years. This was ending tonight.

Red Hood laugh sounded like a nightmare with the voice modulator.

“Catch me if you can, nerd.” Red Hood went through the yellow portal of the window.

Dick was up on the fire escape before he knew it, going through the window after him.

There was a white flash of light as exploding pain shot into his mouth as his teeth tore into his lip, thick, warm blood leaking from his mouth.

The Red Hood had decked him as soon as he climbed through the window. He should’ve been expecting it, but he's been off his game—every word the Red Hood uttered reminded him so much of Jason but it can’t be.

He recovers quickly and kicks the man in the stomach, sending him into the broken plaster wall. He went in for a punch, getting his fist stuck in the wall just beyond the space the Red Hood occupied a fraction of a second before.

“I like it when you’re feisty!” Red Hood laughed.

Dick pulled his hand out of the wall just in time to elbow the man in the red helmet hard enough to knock him off balance, the ‘vigilante’s’ foot sinking into the rotted wood flooring.

Dick turned and hit him in the jaw, knocking him down. Dick could barely feel the pain in his knuckles as he shattered the visor of the motorcycle helmet the man wore. The Red Hood chuckled again as Dick kicked the pistol out of his hand.

The man punched Dick in the stomach hard enough to knock him back half a foot so he could pull his leg out from the flooring, though Red Hood didn’t attack him when freed himself—he was holding back. Dick was too. Why? He saw the crumpled body. He cut the ground with his own hands to bury him. It couldn't be him. The earth swallowed Jason Peter Todd eight years ago and the rest was unquiet silence.

They stared each other down like caged lions—until the Red Hood struck like lightening and pinned Dick against the wall with his forearm against the front of Dick's throat and his pistol kissing Dick's side hard enough to bruise.

“Hey, beautiful.” The man tilted his head to the side, regarding Dick. “Fighting with your heart, I see. New for you. Nice to know you feel _something_.”

Red Hood was an inch taller than him, stronger, but the hold was ineffective. He could escape if he wanted to. He doesn’t know why he didn't.

“Move and I’ll shoot.” Red Hood said like he'd read Dick's mind.

“You’re not going to kill me.”

“Nope, but I’m sure gonna hurt you…a lot.” Red Hood said. “You might even wish you were dead, but no, I won’t kill you. You’re not good enough.”

“You’re not _him_.”

“You’re a monster, but you’re family.” The Red Hood said. He continued when Dick didn’t say anything for a few stray seconds. “No response to that?”

“Take off your helmet.”

The Red Hood let the silence drag on until Dick was almost ready to pull out the dagger and jab it through the wind visor of the helmet or into his own jugular. He doesn’t know which.

“No.” The Red Hood said before releasing Dick. “I think it looks good on me.”

“Please.”

“Will anyone else be joining us?” The Red Hood said as he turned and paced slightly. He kept his gaze on Dick, like a predator, waiting too many seconds before stopping and speaking. “Will Owlman be coming?”

“I didn’t tell him where I was going.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Dick said, a breathy chuckle escaping him as his mind cracked like glass. “I just…need to be sure. If you’re a ghost or someone fucking with me…just, am I being haunted or hunted?”

“Definitely not the ghost of Christmas past, Dickie. I’m as real as the hole _he_ carved into my chest.”

Red Hood unfastens his crimson motorcycle helmet, letting it clunk down, sinking into the splinter flowered wood of the floor. He ran his leather gloved fingers through his black hair, the red roots peeking out from underneath the dye. His pale skin was firefly bright in the dimly lit room. The black domino mask framed his bright green eyes, his lashes are almost black—a darker red than Dick remembered. His stardust of freckles has faded into nothing—he was taller, stronger, with a predator blank gaze, his switchblade smirk in place as it always been.

He was older—a man now, a handsome one like Dick knew he’d be.

“Jason…” Dick said breathlessly. He doesn’t care if this is madness or magic, he has to touch—He doubles over in electrifying pain when he was kneed in the stomach by Jason Fucking Todd—definitely not a ghost. He gasped and sank to his knees, holding his sides. There was a flicker of rage on Jason’s face, passing as quick as a flash of lightening, sliding back to his sardonic expression.

“Hands off.” Jason said, his voice deeper than Dick had remembered. 

“I need to touch you.” Dick felt as if he’d die if he didn’t.

“Heh, doubting Thomas, I see.” Jason said. “Hope you keep up this whole touching me sentiment in bed.”

Jason tangled his fingers in Dick’s hair and pulled back until Dick was looking into his mint green eyes. The painful grip turned to combing, catching on the knots in Dick’s hair.

“This wasn’t a part of the plan. Revealing myself to you this early in the game, I mean.” Jason mumbled, mostly to himself before speaking clearly again. “The plan was to clip your wings, Dickie bird, keep you in my cage until I killed Owlman, Nighthawk, and Alfred. Then I’d break you and use you whenever I want, because you’re my trophy. You’re what this is all about. It’s never been just about simple revenge or Gotham. Sure, I want to end the reign of those Crime Syndicate Nazis. Sure, I want to save people, but I want you more and I expect you to give me everything you gave **him,** or this could get very nasty for you.”

“Jason, how—”

“Does it matter?”

“No. Please, don’t leave. I love you.”

“God, what I would’ve given to hear you say that eight years ago.” Jason said. “Maybe we wouldn’t be here if you did, but it doesn’t matter. We’re here and he’s still alive, and you’re still working for a fucking monster. He murdered me. He took me away from you. Did I mean anything to you, Dick?”

“Of course, you did! Of course, you do! I just…I did leave.”

“But you crawled back.”

“I needed to! He found a new Talon and I wanted to protect him.”

“Spock?” Jason asked. It was <strike>Red hood</strike>’s Jason’s nickname for Tim. “He doesn’t need protecting. If anything, you need protection from him.”

“I didn’t know that then.”

“You’re such a pretty liar.” Jason said, the closest he’d come to sounding sincere yet. “Why did you _really_ stay, Dick?”

“I don’t know.”

There was an audible click on his jaw as hot blood leaked from his newly split lip. Jason had punched him.

“Wrong answer.” Jason said in an eerily playful tone. “It's because you’re obsessed with him. Because you’re a monster too. You’re just better at hiding it, but don't worry, tired starling. I’m gonna train that out of you. Because, despite everything, you can be saved.”

Jason held out his hand and Dick took it without thinking. He stood up, losing his footing when Jason pulled him close enough to smell the cherry bubble gum on his lips. He gripped Dick's wrist and pulled until they were inches apart.

Jason kisses like he wanted to devour Dick, like a drowning man starving for breath and Dick was air. He tasted like goodbye and regret. The man tried to pull away, but Dick gripped the lapels of his leather jacket and kept their lips attached. He’ll never let this kiss end if it stops Jason from leaving.

They broke for air, as Jason watched him as if he was under a spell before waking up too soon and pushing Dick against the wall. He picked up his helmet and turned to leave. Dick caught his elbow.

“Don’t go.” Dick said. “I can’t lose you again.”

Jason yanked his elbow out of Dick's grip. He kept his back to Dick as he placed on his helmet, his voice mechanical and deep again. “You never had me to lose. You’ve proven that by staying with the man who murdered me.”

“Jason—” Dick grabbed his shoulder. Jason turned and delivered a smooth kick into Dick’s stomach, causing him to cough out breath and crash into the wall. Before Dick knew it, his left arm was handcuffed to a decaying radiator. Dick felt like he was going to throw up as he tried to pull his arm free. It moved an inch, but it would probably take Dick an hour to free himself. Jason would be long gone by then.

Jason knelt to his now sitting height as Dick’s vision swam with tears. The impersonal smooth leather of the vigilante’s gloves cupped Dick’s cheek, his thumb roughly swiping across the stinging, tender flesh of Dick’s bottom lip, smearing the blood.

“Don’t go soft on me now, Dickie bird. This is only foreplay.” Jason said, his voice distorted with technological sentience as he stood. “See ya real soon.”

He left through the broken window without looking back. 

Dick was strangely dry eyed and tearless after. He felt numb. It was worse than feeling pain. At least pain reminded him that he was still alive.

He can’t lose him again. He refuses. He will find Jason Todd even if it kills him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I had to cut this off abruptly because it MIGHT spoil the ending I have to [THIS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740950/chapters/3716798)  
2) All the titles of this chapter are song names (like Chapter one.) Heart of Glass by Blondie, Love Will Tear Us Apart by Joy Division, Father Figure by George Michael, Just a Girl by No Doubt, The Killing Moon by Echo & The Bunnymen . All of these songs, I like to imagine, is on Dick Grayson's mix CD.  
3) It's unbeta'd but I'll come back and fix it.  
4) I wrote this when I was sixteen but I updated it a bit. [This is what inspired me.](https://youtu.be/-_FD21CyxeE)  
5) This might contridict with the other snippets I posted but I'm working on it.  
6) The tenses are bad, trust me. I know.  
7) I know this took a while to update. Thanks for sticking with me.  
8) Tell me what you think!


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